Irresistable Change

There's a sign along Interstate 35 between Austin and San Antonio that boldly proclaims a community that, for decades, has been "Gently resisting change". Well, of course that is a facade, the community changed a lot when an investor purchased most of the buildings in the hamlet and turned it into a small tourist center full of manufactured Texas "culture". This story is not about that community, it is about my life...how I resisted change, change to my plans, my life, change that came from anywhere besides myself. However, while I was strongly resisting, I was on the path being changed regardless.

Of course I resisted...who likes change? Who wants to admit that their plans, lifestyle, the entire personal code of ethics that they have lived by are ultimately inadequate. I never wanted to entertain the idea that, no matter how hard I tried, I could not control my life.

I grew up assuming that I was saved...not really knowing what I was saved from. I just assumed that, on my own, I could do whatever I wanted, achieve whatever I wanted, that I could do the things necessary to save me from whatever. I had plenty of "knowledge" of the Bible, of Christian thought, but I never really believed it. I would often reject truthful things because they conflicted with my plans, with my beliefs, with my selfishness.

Oh man, selfishness, what a horrible thing, but it was my best friend growing up. I was selfish, every action, every thought, "good" or bad, was done with the intention of bringing the most benefit possible to myself. I cannot recall ever doing something for someone without first making sure that I would benefit in some way, that it was "worth it". I wanted to look good, I wanted other people to think highly of me. It didn't matter what the consequences were for everyone else. I was extremely competitive, but, because of my family's persistent financial difficulties (I spent most of my childhood below "middle class", my sports activities, were limited. So, I expressed my competitive nature in many other ways. I was a very "bad sport", but not only that, I was a chronically argumentative and angry kid.

My story of growing up is far from a "Sex, Drugs and Rock N' Roll" story. However, I didn't drink or do drugs for any reason other than to benefit myself, that is, make myself look as much like a good moral person as possible. I was just as sinful as anyone (still am of course), but I didn't look at it that way at the time. I was "better" than people around me because I did the "right" things. I had some experience with church, but my family stopped going when I was 12, further hampering any spiritual input into my life. I didn't grow up with spiritual leadership or strong guidance in this area of my life. I wasn't around consistent fellowship and so I sank further into a spiritual quagmire of, well, nothing.

Being filled with nothing, I was a very unsatisfied teenager. I was always depressed, nothing could cure that it. On top of that my parents (who are vastly different now and I love them greatly) were fairly strict and overprotective. The oldest in a family often has to deal with this to some degree. I naturally became more rebellious (inwardly and in a passive agressive way) and self-focused. I often hated life, hated others, hated myself. I had friends but only a couple of them ever discussed spiritual stuff with me. I played along, assuming that I had already done enough and didn't have to worry about God. God was off doing his own thing, saving people so that they could be legalistic, make up a lot of extra-biblical rules, tell others to live by them while they spend their time judging others, as well as being hypocrites. That was the representation of God that I got from most of the "christians" that I encountered in life.

At age 15 I came as close to killing myself as I ever will. I had been grounded for a very long time and, faced with this new level of "tough love", I sank further into my negative hateful thought process. I think it was that summer that I hit my low point...although on the other hand I think every second of my life before I came to truly know Christ were equally low points. I remember, walking near the house on another 105 degree day (1998 was a hot year), trying to think of the best way to finish myself off, when I saw am image of my father crying at my funeral. It was a look of such stunning anguish, it broke my heart. It was the most realistic thing to ever flash into my mind. If I were to have a gun in my hand at that point I would have dropped it, just as quickly I dropped the thought of killing myself. From then on, I realized that my life had some purpose.

That purpose would remain lost on me for the next several years. My sense of purpose would be a confused and ultimately self-twisted idea that my purpose in life was to be successful, rich, powerful, and awesome. I saw every person on Earth as placed in a system where we were all ranked, 1 though 6 billion. My goal was to be number one and I needed to, and could, do whatever it took to reach that spot.

To be continued...